The Parents' Review

A Monthly Magazine of Home-Training and Culture

"Education is an atmosphere, a discipline, a life."
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The Educational Value of Great Books: Homer

by W. Osborne BrigstockeVolume 14, March 1903, pgs. 161-169

To many it must seem passing strange that in the far bygone ages there
should loom the mysterious figure of a genius, still styled by
universal voice the King of Poets. That Homer should never have been
dethroned by any subsequent lord of song seems contrary to theories of
progress. If indeed the law of evolution may be applied to the higher
faculties of man, how can we account for this unrivalled product of an
age so far remote? We think nowadays that, although some great man of
the heroic age is great in his way, his way is "not ours, nor meant for
ours."

"And ours is greater, had we skill to know." [Browning]

And yet no one denies the assertion that Homer's poems rank higher than
all others. To attempt to explain this may seem presumptuous, because
everything connected with genius is difficult to account for. But
perhaps in this case the reason is not so obscure. Certain it is that
one of man's highest faculties is and always has been what is called
the sense of poetry. The commonest object may be full of poetry to one
who sees beneath the surface; how much more the sublimer aspects of
creation, the beauties of color and sound, the charm of friendship, the
communion of love on earth or prayer in heaven—all these and many
others, how full of poetry even to a casual observer. It must, we
think, be taken for granted that all this poetry is not a thing which
has grown better or more intense; it must have existed in Adam's time
even as in our own. (One is perhaps tempted to think that change, if
any, may have been for the worse. But let us beware of such
reflections. We must encourage that still small voice within us which
assures us that there must be harmony and progress in spite of
appearances.) If then there must have been in past times as in these a
wealth of poetry in life, "past comprehension," it means that the first
man had, so to speak, as much to sing as any bard that followed. The
progress lies in the power of expression, for if we cannot assert that
there must be many unknown Homers in the world, we can at least feel
sure that there are many whose conceptions are sublime, but who have
neither opportunity nor skill to sing. But still we are met with the
same difficulty: if the power of giving expression to the thoughts,
which are to a great or small extent present in most breasts, is the
measure of progress, how comes it that no one has yet eclipsed the bard
who sang so many centuries ago? But then, how is it that there are
several great figures in the past with which no modern can presume to
compare himself? The question is faulty. We cannot tell what present
times can offer in comparison with past ages. Each glorious figure is
the incarnation and summit of a branch of civilisation, and perhaps the
names of Beethoven and Shakespeare are sufficient to prove that the
spirit which inspired Homer still breathes through our souls—in a
different way. So far as genius can be explained, it is to be looked on
as the product of a multitude of concomitant forces; it appears only at
certain epochs, just as the clouds, which are indeed most beautiful at
all times, are transcendently so only at dawn and sunset. Those who
wonder how it is that Homer is so supreme in the world of poetry must
remember that the first step towards solving that mystery is to know
and to appreciate his poems, to grasp as much as possible the almost
miraculous conception of what is called the Olympian system, and to
mark the beauty of the language which came to life in his works. To
realise not only the grandeur of the books themselves, but also the
part they played in the subsequent history of Greece, aye, of the
world, is to feel vaguely how much we are benighted with regard to all
that went to prepare the way for so gigantic a mind.

Here, if anywhere, we may complain of embarrass de richesses. How
choose one of so many interesting topics? The Theogony with its
conceptions of right and wrong, the great heroes, foremost among them
Achilles and Ulysses, questions regarding the title "Lord of men," the
contrast between Homer and Hesiod, the differences between the Iliads
and the Odyssey, the Christian doctrines of which suggestions are found
in Homer's poems, the language of Homer, more especially with reference
to his metaphors and epithets, the historical and ethnographical value
of the poems, the matchless eloquence of the debates and speeches—all
these subjects furnish almost endless matter of absorbing interest.

But there is one other subject, perhaps as attractive as any of the
foregoing. Gladstone has treated it; but could we do better than go
over ground traversed by him? He writes: "The bond that held Greek
society together in the Homeric times and that seemed the basis on
which it was to be organised and developed was five-fold, and the
strands of this well-knit rope are represented respectively by Greek
words (signifying the following ideas):—

"(1.) The Deity, and the worship of immortal and unseen beings in all
its various forms.
"(2.) The principle of social right and duty, chiefly as between
neighbours and fellow-citizens.
"(3.) The ultimate sanction of good faith.
"(4.) The basis of kindly and friendly relation and of good offices
among men, beyond the limits of probity and of class.
"(5.) The great institution of marriage, determining the relation
between the two varieties of human kind, constituting the family and
providing for the continuance of the species.

"The one great creative and formative idea which runs through the whole
of these is reverence, that powerful principle, the counter agent to
all meanness and selfishness, which obliges a man to have regard to
some law or standard above that of force and extrinsic to his own free
will, his own passions, or his own propensities."

It is deeply interesting to trace the many phases of this sense of
reverence. It is surprising how steeped in it are the Homeric
poems—surprising because one is apt to think of the Homeric age as one
in which brute force obtained to an overwhelming extent. In spite of
the rough ways and crude customs which, as depicted in the Iliad,
undoubtedly represent the manners of the Homeric age, there is an
underlying power for good which is entirely due to reverence. This is
more marked in the Odyssey and for obvious reasons. During warfare,
during the struggles for life and victory, in the face of death and
bereavement, man's passions are [word illegible] to break restraints—of which one
of the most potent is the feeling of reverence. On the other hand the
story of the Odyssey may be said to be entirely founded on this noble
sentiment, and as one turns the pages phase after phase is depicted in
admirable variety.

First and foremost comes the reverence for the gods and immortal
beings. However foreign to our conception anthropomorphism may be, we
cannot but be struck by the exquisite beauty of many of the Greek
(i.e., Homeric) ideas. Heaven is represented as consisting of an
assembly of gods, knit together as members of one family, as denizens
of the immortal race of heaven, as persons bound by the laws of
hospitality and by the bond of fellowship. Thus the Greek could emulate
this fourfold perfection in his daily life. His aim might be what would
now be termed realising on earth the kingdom of God. But beside this
sublime family of Olympus, which was an idealised reflection (if not
forecast) of Greek national and family life at its best, there was that
voice of conscience so grandly personified in the Erinyes of Homer—very
different from the Furies of a more degraded age. It is difficult to
speak with moderation of this Olympian system; the more one broods on
it, the more dazzled is he by the ideal perfection of all that lies
beneath what seems to modern minds a somewhat grotesque exterior. How
could a religion fail to be a powerful influence for good when no
votaries could affirm—

. . . "Sure the gods their impious acts detest,
And honour justice and the righteous breast,
Pirates and conquerors of harden'd mind,
The foes of peace, and scourges of mankind
To whom offending men are made a prey
When Jove in vengeance gives a land away;
Ev'n these, when of their ill-got spoils possessed
Find sure tormentors in the guilty breast,
Some voice of God close whispering from within,
'Wretch! this is villainy and this is sin!'" (Od. xiv.)

It is evident that the Olympian system had defects which subsequent
ages enlarged to the detriment of the ideals, and that it gave the rein
to much that Christianity condemns. But there is the practical
demonstration of its vast influence: it was reverence for this great
religion that made Greece the land of literature and art—made Greeks a
nation capable of showing the world how divine a mortal race may be.

And if the reverence for heavenly powers is the first duty of a man,
the second is a reverence for parents. As in the history of the Jews,
so here we find that great truth once again: much (more than we
realise) depends upon the family life. Home is, or should be, a
foreshadowing of heaven. It is the nearest approach to perfect peace,
perfect love and perfect light. And if there be no reverence at home,
can there be reverence in the house of God? Piteous is the lot of the
orphan; but how far more piteous is the child who leaves his place at
home. Be the fault the child's, the sadder is his lot. Is there a place
on earth where sorrow, trouble, shame, can be assuaged with tender
sympathy, if not at home? Is the rough world wont to reverence the
modesty of grief? Can the heart turn to a heavenly, unseen Father when
the earthly father cannot understand? Sometimes it must. We hear so
often of youth struggling single-handed in the world, like young birds
fallen from the nest! They tread a dangerous path, dangerous not only
to themselves, but also to those around them. They cannot be called
valuable citizens; for like an army that has lost its base, they stake
all on the issue of one fight: reverence is apt to be forgotten in the
strife, whereas it flourishes when nurtured by the wisdom of mature
years and by the sympathy of love. In the Odyssey, all the reverence
seems to have some connection with that home in Ithaca. How intense is
Ulysses' love for Ithaca the fair, that pleasant shore, than which none
lovelier in his eyes. Throughout his wanderings his soul ever rested
there, and often, as he sat longing for the home deep-imaged in his
soul, the sun seemed slow to move and the hours to roll! How worthy of
this love was Penelope, who yearned for him during twenty years; and
the son so like his noble father! There can be no such reverence
without nobleness. Man is not born to reverence the base: what is
sublime can appeal even to the most callous. It is the purity, the
freedom of willing obedience, the charm of a familiarity born of
respect that make English homes proverbial in the world. Homes such as
our best ones are school of reverence.

Closely connected with the reverence for parents and for home is the
reverence for the stranger and the poor. Hospitality seems to be one of
the principles inherent in the mind of man; it is a virtue closely kin
to charity—the greatest Christian virtue. Hospitality was a duty to the
Jew; to the Greek also. The origin of the sentiment seems to have been
in both cases the same. A Hebrew would entertain a stranger because
angels often came to earth disguised. In the same way the Greek would
think—

"Ill fits the stranger and the poor to wound,
Unblessed thy hand! if in this low disguise
Wander, perhaps, some inmate of the skies." (Od. xvii. 575.)

But the conception of reverence for the homeless or the poor was more
noble than such a motive would imply. In Homer we find misery spoken of
as sacred to the gods (Od. v. 572) and hospitality as a debt: "Oh! pity
human woe! 'Tis what the happy to the unhappy owe!" (Od. vii. 198). It
is considered a test of civilisation; in an unknown land Ulysses
wonders whether it is peopled by—

. . . "A race unjust, of barbarous might,
Rude and unconscious of a stranger's right,
Or such who harbour pity in their breast,
Revere the gods of succour the distress'd." (Od. ix. 203)

A little later on in the same book we find a passage entirely inspired
with reverence:—

"Low at thy knee thy succour we implore,
Respect us human and relieve us poor;
At least some hospitable gift bestow,
'Tis what the happy to the unhappy owe;
'Tis what the gods require: those gods revere;
The poor and stranger are their constant care;
To Jove their cause and their revenge belongs,
He wanders with them and he feels their wrongs." (Od. ix. 318)

In this passage we find the mention of another kind of reverence: the
reverence for what is human. It was, of course, a natural consequence
of anthropomorphism; but from it sprang many noble sentiments, such as
the reverence for old age, the reverence for the dead, and the
reverence for the body. Age is called sacred (Od. xxiii. 26), and a
touching incident illustrates the way in which Telemachus was brought
up to reverence age. When he returned to Ithaca and found the beggar
(his father disguised) sitting by Eumaeus—

How charming is the picture! What a world of emotions must have filled
Ulysses' heart! And equal reverence was to be paid to any stranger.
Laodamas, a king's best beloved son, rose and gave his seat beside the
throne to the guest; and even the queen of heaven would rise to give
her throne to a guest in the assembly of the gods.

Even in the height of fury Ulysses reverenced the corpses of the
suitors. When Euryclea screamed for joy, he rebuked her, saying,—

"T' insult the dead is cruel and unjust,
Fate and their crime have sunk them to the dust." (Od. xxii. 450)

This same feeling gave rise to all the elaborate ceremonies connected
with burial and to the horror of leaving a body unburied. Elpenor in
Hades entreated Ulysses to bury his body as soon as he returned to the
upper world, and Antigone speaks of the duty of burying her brother as
one of—

"The infallible, unwritten laws of Heaven,
Not now or yesterday they have their being,
But everlastingly, and none can tell
The home that saw their birth."

Again; the spirit of reverence is evident in the dread of breaking an
oath. It is worthy of notice, because perjury seems to be the only
crime which is expressly mentioned as punishable in Hades; even the
gods were subject to the consequences of perjury. In the Iliad it is
the Trojans who break their word flippantly; to a Greek it was one of
the worst forms of crime. We find the invocation, "Powers beneath, that
all the perjuries of men chastise ev'n after death." And it is into the
mouth of Achilles that Homer puts the powerful words—

"Who dares think one thing and another tell,
My heart detests him as the gates of hell."

All this seems the more remarkable when the gods are found using deceit
of every kind and Ulysses praised by the goddess for his lying. But the
inconsistency is only apparent; the ideal existed plainly in the mind,
but could take only a relative position in an anthropomorphical
conception. To a Greek mind the idea of anything absolute seems to have
been foreign. Just as unlimited power was an abomination to them, so
did absolute perfection never occur to them; their most ideal creations
were intensely human. It is characteristic that Homer's Jupiter was an
exalted Agamemnon; the heavenly king was a glorified impersonation of
the earthly king of kings. On the other hand, the Greeks were apt to
worship superlative gifts, exceptional beauty of mind or body. In
Achilles we have Homer's highest conception of man as the divinest
creature of creation; in Ulysses, the more human aspect, less spiritual
but more touching, less noble but with a mind as quick and powerful,
less sensitive but nevertheless a true son, husband, father, ruler. Of
Achilles, all we can say is that he was as divine as a man can be:
Ulysses only wished to be remembered as the father of Telemachus.

Of the reverence for marriage little need be said; sufficient testimony
to this is given by the siege of Troy itself and also by that mother of
all noble wives, Penelope. Paris, the cause of all the dire trouble
which came to the Greeks and Trojans, is spoken of in the Iliad in
these words: "Accurs'd, made but in beauty's scorn! Imposter, woman's
man! O heav'n, that thou hads't ne'er been born, or, being so manless,
never liv'd to bear man's noblest state, the nuptial honour." And in
the eyes of the Greeks, Paris was doubly to blame. He had not only
outraged the laws of marriage, but also those of hospitality.

And lastly, without entering upon the fascinating question as to the
origin of Christian ideas prevalent in Homer, it is interesting to turn
once more to the beautiful lines which seem to have a special meaning
in a land which owes so much of its greatness to the sentiment of
reverence—reverence for king, for parents, home and country, respect
for age, poverty and weakness, love of what is pure and beautiful, and
above all that reverence for God which makes our service one of the
sublimest that man has ever proffered to his Maker.

"Bear, with a soul resigned, the will of Jove;
Who breathes, must mourn: thy woes are from above
But since thou tread'st our hospitable shore,
'Tis mine to bid the wretched grieve no more,
To clothe the naked, and thy way to guide . . .
. . . Safe in the love of heaven an ocean flows
Around our realm, a barrier from the foes;
'Tis ours this son of sorrow to relieve,
Cheer the sad heart, nor let affliction grieve;
By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent;
And what to those we give, to Jove is lent." (Od. vi. 230-242)